


The Human

by Lam Vũ (blaues_universum)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blaues_universum/pseuds/Lam%20V%C5%A9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I choose John. I share my immortality with him. We will spend the days on earth and the nights in Hades’ realm. Forever, until this universe dissolves into nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Human

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-readers: Angst Is My Middle Name, Laury the Latrator. Thank you so much, you are awesome! 3
> 
> Pairing: Pollux!Sherlock/Castor!John
> 
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castor_and_Pollux
> 
> A/N: I was inspired by Greek myth and a prompt that required Greek myth confusion.  
> I don't use italics for thougths but it is my intention :D  
> Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John always says: “It must be good to be you, Sherlock. You have nothing to fear.”

 

He doesn’t know how wrong it is.

 

When Sherlock cuts his own chest open, and blood billows out of his chest and tints every inch of his skin red, he feels scared. Very frightened, aghast, afraid of his own immortality. Because his heart is still beating steadily, though soon there would no more blood in his body.

 

John’s heart had stopped hours ago. Thanatos insists on taking his soul to Hades, even though Sherlock has persuaded, bribed, begged, done everything in his power.

 

Sherlock angrily calls Mycroft, but to no avail. Anthea comes instead.

 

“The Moirae sisters have cut his string. Neither human nor god can do anything, you must know that.”

 

She looks at him sadly and speaks with a gentle but firm voice.

 

“Cut my string too!”

 

Anthea frowns as Sherlock shouts at her face, then shakes her head, saying, “You are not human. They simply cannot sever your thread.”

 

Sherlock goes mad. He takes his own heart from his chest, watches it beat for a second then stabs it frantically with a knife. He calls John but receives no answer. He calls upon Thanatos again but the god of the Death refuses to take him because he is Mycroft’s brother. He is demi-god, he cannot die. He must live, even though his heart is now cut into a thousand pieces, bloody and shattered.

 

He must go on without his heart, John.

 

No. Sherlock screams. No.

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

Sherlock remembers when he and John first met.

 

It was when he and John came out of that woman’s womb. He eagerly opened his eyes after a year of being in the dark, the only thing to feel being the sense of blood and flesh inside a human’s body, to meet the light. That revolting light that hurt him so much that he had to turn his head away and bury his face into the soft fabric under him.

 

 

Yet after a moment he was curious of all the noises around him, so he did it again. He opened his eyes one more time, and this time he saw the bluest blue that would follow him, comfort him and haunt him, even for the rest of his life.

 

John’s eyes were sparkling and innocent, because unlike Sherlock – a demi-god who could know, could see, could understand everything around him - he was just a mortal. A baby who was not stained with bad and evil thoughts, who had never been touched by those rotten things.

 

His mother, their mother, kissed their foreheads before taking a nap but lingered a bit on Sherlock’s.

 

“You’re special, I know it. You’re my most precious thing,” she said absent-mindedly.

 

Sherlock didn’t answer her, turning his head to John instead and looking into his glassy eyes, as if he was asking if John understood what Mother had said. Of course, John didn’t. Sherlock moved his tiny arm a bit to touch his half-brother, made his eyes focus on Sherlock as he smiled toothlessly.

 

No, I’m not yours, woman. We’re not yours. Sherlock thought.

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

Sherlock also remembers that they have never been without the other.

 

Since his birth, Sherlock had always been their mother’s favourite, although he hated her passionately. He knew, and perhaps John vaguely knew too, that she always compared the two brothers. She always dreamed of the life with those Olympus Gods, despite the fact that she was already the Queen of the Spartans. She longed for the immortality that she and her rightful husband and one of her brothers would never have.

 

But Sherlock did.

 

Her indifference towards John still hurt, but he had never brought himself to care because Sherlock had always been with him.

 

“Having you is enough,” John had said, using his fingertip to draw a flower inside his brother’s palm.

 

And they did everything together: eating, sleeping, waking, learning, hunting, walking, talking. They saw the world together. Their hearts beat in the same rhythm.

 

Albeit Sherlock, in his recent state of mind, cannot remember fully every second, every minute of it. All he remembers is the two of them being together all their life.

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

Everyone wanted to be with Sherlock, wanted to be special, but no one dared because Sherlock had made it very clear, that he hated humans, gods, and any other beings. Only John is exceptional.

 

Sherlock never bragged about his father, his beauty and his special abilities, and John was never jealous. How could he be jealous, when his demi-god brother treated him like the most cherished treasure? Yet he could never completely understand why Sherlock hated his own immortality so much.

 

Because that’s the only thing between us, me being a demi-god and you being a human. Because I know things you don’t, because Thanatos would take you away from me someday and I cannot do anything about it. Sherlock bitterly thought.

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

Sherlock takes John’s hand, thumb tracing his stone-cold skin, gathering the memories of them touching, feeling each other.

 

It started on a summer morning some years ago. Sherlock’s body had grown into a unearthly beautiful eighteen year-old boy. John, still waiting for the growth-spurt that almost never came, was half a head shorter than his brother. Sherlock liked it. John fit into his arm, all small and warm and soft. He stood behind John, head leaning onto his shoulder, arms embracing him from behind. John’s scent lingered around him, made him shiver with contentment whenever he buried his nose into his hair.

 

“Your eyes are beautiful,” John said, fingers tracing from his neck, searching for his face.

 

“Why are you saying that?” Sherlock asked, hand holding John’s wrist, stroking the skin there.

 

“Everyone says that. Your eyes are special, godly.”

 

“Do you think that my eyes are beautiful?” Sherlock breathed into his brother’s ear.

 

“Of course. I’m not blind you know,” John chuckled.

 

“Do you want them? If you want, you can keep them. I can still see without these eyes,” Sherlock whispered.

 

John stilled for a second, then turned around to face him. Sherlock was looking at him, those pale eyes piercing his soul. A brief glint appeared in John’s eyes, but quickly died down.

 

“No, they are beautiful because they are yours, Sherlock,” John smiled, the smile of an older soul, filled with the sensation of a strange feeling. He looked at Sherlock for a long time, trying to find something else to say, something else to do, to conceal his solicitude.

 

Sherlock already saw it, already knew it too well. He leaned down and took John into a gentle kiss, gradually heated with all lips and tongue and teeth. In a haste, John accidentally bit his brother’s full lip, a drop of blood trickling into his mouth, bringing the metallic tanginess, along with the smell of the earth under their bodies, of the wind playing and messing with Sherlock’s curly hair, of the sunshine’s reflection in Sherlock’s eyes.

 

“I give you everything I have, John.” Sherlock said as they broke the kiss. “My eyes, my lips, my body, my mind, my heart, my soul are yours to take,” John couldn’t say a word, so he kept looking into his half-brother’s eyes, let him walk down the path to the deepest place of his soul.

 

It had been like a lifetime before Sherlock broke the eye contact.

 

“I understand.”

 

His voice is like the wind, soft and barely audible but offered John some sort of consolation. He kissed down John’s neck, hands never leaving his warm skin. Every few seconds he placed his hand on his breast, to feel the human’s heart beating fast under his finger. Thump, thump, thump. 

 

John couldn’t suppress a moan as Sherlock took off their clothes. The grass and soil beneath him should be itchy but they were soft, thousands of green tips blandly pricking his back. He stretched his whole body, trying to let as much of his skin as he could touch the cool grass, because Sherlock’s hand and mouth and body on him was too warm, so hot that he almost burst into flame.

 

John was so drowned in tender passion that he didn’t notice Sherlock preparing him, reaching inside him, soothing him. But he knew it when his half-brother entered him, because he just had to know, because they were becoming one body in the whole universe, because Sherlock’s eyes were burning into him, burning him completely.

 

“It’s so hot, Sherlock, I’m going to burn, Sherlock, don’t let me burn, Sherlock,” John murmured.

 

To answer him, Sherlock whispered in a hoarse, determined voice, “Let’s burn together, John.”

 

And John cried, tears silently rolled down his cheeks.

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

Sherlock still remembers the taste of John’s tears on his tongue. They were so salty, so bitter, so sweet.

 

He still remembers clearly, because he was licking them away just hours ago.

 

John doesn’t, didn’t cry often. Only when he was happy, because Sherlock would never let anyone upset him so much that he had to cry.

 

But the last time John cried, it was because he was very sad. He didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone in this world.

 

Sherlock, for the first time in his life, regrets. If he wasn’t so arrogant. If the fate wasn’t so cruel. If that woman hadn’t met Zeus, so he wouldn’t have been a tedious demi-god. His immortality now rears its ugly head, taunting him. No, he isn’t fearless. He must fear everything.

 

He must watch John die and be helpless, hopeless.

 

So he just stays there beside John’s bloody corpse while blood and heart both leave his body. Suddenly, there are tears streaming down his face, when all the blood has gone. Sherlock doesn’t even know what they are, until he tastes the bitterness on his tongue. Sherlock doesn’t even know that he has tears because he has never cried.

 

But now he does, letting everything left in his withered body out, along with the tears that he should never have shed. For John.

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

This time Mycroft comes down to the earth.

 

“You should stop bothering Anthea,” he says, but Sherlock doesn’t answer him or have a reaction. He has closed his eyes, willing his body to return to the darkness.

 

“Wake up, my brother. I’m here to bring you great news,” Mycroft continues, walking around Sherlock’s and John’s bodies. He stops beside John and looks down at the human that is believed to be his brother’s heart.

 

“Stop it”, Sherlock says, doesn’t even open his eyes, “Don’t look down on him.”

 

“You’re both brave and unintelligent, my brother. You don’t order a God, and no one orders me, well, apart from Mummy,” Mycroft frowns.

 

“So what are you going to do? Lock me in uncle Hades’ chamber for a million years? He must like that,” Sherlock says.

 

“Don’t be so bitter, Sherlock. I’m not here to hear those things from you,” Mycroft answers him with a stern voice.

 

This time Sherlock raises his eyes to look at his half-brother’s face. A God, but still his brother, and Mycroft bears a faintly gentle look in his eyes.

 

“I apologize.”

 

Mycroft nods, moving around again.

 

“The good thing is, I just played chess with Mummy and uncle Hades this morning, and they lost,” he turns around to face Sherlock, “And they agreed to give you a choice.”

 

“And what would that be, brother?” Sherlock asks, trying to be normal but his voice cracking.

 

“You could have a life as a real God with us on Olympus. You could have immortality. You would never be hungry or thirsty, never be sad. And you could have power, could rule all the humans that are breathing on this earth.”

 

“I don’t need those things. And I would be sad forever,” Sherlock says quietly, “What is the other choice?”

 

Mycroft arches an eyebrow, truly understanding his favourite brother for the first time. Sherlock stares at him, waiting for an answer. They just look at each other for a long time, as if it’s the only time they would ever completely see each other.

 

“Well,” finally, Mycroft says, “You have to repeat after me to seal the deal.”

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

It doesn’t take Thanatos and John much time to go to the Styx.

 

“Playing chess again,” the God of the Death murmurs to himself. After that, he leaves a clueless John on the bank of the river and stalked away. Even Charon the ferryman refuses to let him cross the river.

 

So this is death, John thinks. Not as horrible as he had imagined. 

 

He spends hours walking around, meeting and making small talks with the wandering souls.

 

As he stops under a big old and fruitless, scrawny tree, he meets Hades who is strolling along the Styx.

 

Hades casts his eyes upon John for a moment, then says, “Ah, John, my boy. My realm does welcome you, but it’s not time yet. There must be hours before sunset. Now, return to your brother.”

 

And Hades’ kingdom crashes down around John, blackness overwhelms him. A silver light shows him the way to the world of the living, which he follows to enter an underground trench.

 

Just as John guessed, there’s Sherlock standing at the end of the tunnel, waiting for him with a strangely content smile on his face. The marvelous sunshine of a lovely afternoon shines his dark hair, making him a gorgeous halo. John doesn’t know what else to do, apart from running to his brother and embracing him.

 

“What have you done?” John asks, tightening his arms around Sherlock’s frame.

 

“Why do you think this has anything to do with me?” Sherlock smirks, burying his nose into John’s blonde hair.

 

“I just know,” John smiles into his chest.

 

They just stand there for a long, long time, while the winds play, the sun shines, the birds sing and the weeds dance along. While every single thing, every single sense in the world soothes them. Perhaps it was just seconds, minutes, hours, years, but to them it’s a lifetime.

 

“When the sun sets we must return to Hades,” Sherlock suddenly breaks the silence.

 

“I don’t care. Having you is enough,” John says.

 

Hearing this makes Sherlock wants to kiss him, so he does. Hard. With all tongue and lips and teeth and blood, just like the first time. Sherlock cherishes John, cherishes the feeling of holding him in his arms, cherishes the sparkles in his eyes, the warmth of his smaller body, the fullness of his soul binding with Sherlock’s.

 

 

 ---o0o---

 

 

And Sherlock will always remember the day God gave him another chance, the day he made the vow of his life.

 

 

_I choose John. I share my immortality with him. We will spend the days on earth and the nights in Hades’ realm. Forever, until this universe dissolves into nothing._

 

 

 

 


End file.
